


tiptoe through the true bits

by turnerandkane



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnerandkane/pseuds/turnerandkane
Summary: Proximity to Light raises issues for L, and it leads them to places he wishes he did not want to go.





	

L doesn’t recall much of his early childhood. Any memories of before he came to Wammy’s are fragments; a woman’s face, the sound of someone’s voice, a scent of what may have once been his home. But none of the pieces fit together, so he can’t form a picture of that time. It’s not that surprising, really, considering he spent most of his life at Wammy’s. That’s where the stories become clearer, where he can find bits that fit together and create an image of his young life. When he does this, when he thinks about what that time was like, there is one overarching theme that leaps out at him: solitude.

There have been many reasons that L has secluded himself throughout his life. When he started his career as a detective, it became a matter of protecting his identity, but even before it became a practical measure, he spent most of his time alone. It didn’t bother him, for the most part; if anything, he preferred it. He was no good at socializing and it wore him out, and he tended to be more successful when he undertook an endeavor on his own. He just didn’t need other people all that much.

That was one reason. The other had caused him more grief over the years.

When L first came to Wammy’s, he struggled to adjust. To the new surroundings, to the other children, and to his new caretakers. And as he attempted to make the transition, it became clear that they were not always on the same page about what kind of interaction he was okay with.

The first time another child touched L without his permission, he froze, then slapped the boy’s hand away perhaps more forcefully than was necessary. The boy had only tried to tap him on the arm to get his attention, but the foreign touch surprised L and he acted on instinct in response. The boy was more shocked than hurt, but L was reprimanded anyway, and if he struggled to express himself as an adult it had been far worse as a child, so he was unable to explain why he’d reacted in the way he did. 

Similar incidents took place throughout his childhood until people around him learned that it was best not to try to interact with him physically at all. L was relieved when people began to realize this, because although he did learn to articulate that he did not want to be touched, into his adulthood he could not, no matter how hard he tried, articulate why.

It wasn’t that he disliked being touched, although sometimes that was the case. There had been an incident when he was a young boy where Watari had tried to comfort him after a nightmare, and L screamed when he tried to hug him. Other times, it made him uncomfortable because he didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to it. Did he reciprocate the other person’s touch? Was there some sort of verbal response that would suffice? He understood that he was supposed to have internalized these intricacies of human interaction at some point, but apparently he had been unsuccessful. But the biggest reason he flinched or froze when he sensed that someone intended to come into contact with him was that it always just felt like so much.

Every time someone so much as laid a hand on L’s shoulder, he felt like he was hyperaware of every point of contact. He could feel a person’s touch throughout his entire body, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to react dramatically to casual affection. This only compounded his discomfort, and he decided over time that it was preferable to avoid physical contact with others altogether. He is, as he understands from others, not always a pleasant person to interact with on any level, so it is not a huge difficulty to get people to more or less leave him alone. When he becomes a reclusive, almost legendary detective, it is nearly a moot point.

But then the Kira case falls into his lap, and before long he has decided that direct contact with the task force will be necessary. This part is not much of a problem; apart from Aizawa grabbing him in a fit of grief after Ukita’s death, no one else has ever tried to lay a hand on him.

It becomes more complicated when Light enters the equation. He is L’s peer, unlike the rest of the task force (perhaps with the exception of Matsuda, but L does not feel as strong of a connection to Matsuda for a great number of reasons). He is also the smartest member of the force apart from L, and he is also probably Kira. Aside from any evidence L has that points him to Light, he can feel the tension in their relationship from the moment they meet. It is true, certainly, that his own suspicions might be the source of the tension, but L did not achieve his position by writing off any possibilities without a good, solid reason.

All of this makes Light intriguing to L, and the more time they spend together the more L begins to worry that their closeness, whether genuine or contrived, will eventually warrant some kind of physical contact. This, he decides, has to be avoided at all costs, because if Light is Kira he cannot perceive of L having any weaknesses, and L knows that is exactly how his sensitivity would be interpreted. It’s almost a relief when Light asks to be confined, even though L is troubled by his uncertainty about Light’s motives.

It is not an easy decision to handcuff himself to Light upon the conclusion of his confinement, but despite judgment from the rest of the task force, L feels it is the best course of action. It’s not necessary for keeping them together 24/7, although that’s the simplest explanation to provide to the others. The truth is that it’s another gamble. He’s putting himself out there, true, but he’s putting Light in a vulnerable position as well, and if Light is Kira (or was Kira, as the case may be), throwing him off balance will be the key to getting at the truth.

And Light is Kira, L is fairly certain of this. Or was Kira. He has definitely been Kira at some point, L would bet his reputation on that. And if he is or was Kira, then L cannot let his guard down around him. He knows this. So when he has to confront the logistics of being chained to his suspect, he tries to go about it in the most level-headed way possible, without revealing his own reservations.

Luckily, he knows Light doesn’t appreciate their proximity any more than he does, so he does not question when L provides them with separate twin beds a few feet apart in their room. It will be an awkward sleeping arrangement, but L doesn’t sleep much anyway, and it will keep them from coming into contact with each other during the night.

When L is awake and working on his laptop while Light sleeps, this arrangement serves them fine. Light moves around a fair amount in his sleep, but L adjusts his position as necessary and doesn’t complain, because he knows the alternative. Issues arise when L does have to give in to his body’s needs and get some sleep himself. When they are both twisting and turning they pull each other and get wrapped up in the chain, and more than a few times one of them winds up awakened by a tumble to the floor. The situation is less than ideal, L concedes after a while, but he remains unwilling to change it.

Unfortunately, it does not come down to his choice. One night when they’re both sleeping a few weeks after they’ve moved into headquarters, L pulls Light from his bed twice, and upon getting up the second time Light huffs, moves to the other side of his bed, shoves it up against L’s, and climbs back in. He directs a glare at L that L understands to mean “Don’t you dare say a word about this,” and then he turns away from him and goes back to sleep.

L does not go back to sleep.

He stares at the absence of space where his buffer used to be. Now Light is barely a foot away from him, and he can’t get much further. Even at this distance L can sense his presence like electricity in the air around him. _Well_ he thinks, _I guess I’ll just try not to sleep anymore._

He knows this isn’t a real solution, but he’s out of options. _You could take off the handcuffs_ says a voice in his head, but he ignores it. He also ignores the one that’s telling him he likes the proximity, that he wants Light to touch him almost as much as he doesn’t, that that’s the real reason he won’t make the logical choice and separate them. They’ve grown closer since Light’s confinement; they make jokes when they are working, they chat idly about the other members of the task force, and once Light shared a pointed look with him when Matsuda said something ridiculous. L’s heart leapt when this happened, and the memory of Light’s smile that was just for him is ingrained in his brain. He tells himself this is merely because he’s never had someone to share pointed looks with before, but he suspects that is not the whole truth.

But, he reminds himself, as he laments the loss of space between them, Light is/was Kira, and he can’t feel this way about Kira. _But you do,_ says the voice he apparently cannot ignore, and he allows himself a moment to grimace and pull his hair and say _You’re better than this, you have to be better than this,_ before he pulls out his laptop and focuses on the work.

L goes four days without sleeping. This isn’t completely unheard of for him, but this case is weighing on him more than any other case he’s ever undertaken, and the lack of rest catches up to him fast. Light asks him on the second day, when the dark circles on his eyes start to become even more pronounced, if he’s been getting any sleep at all. “Enough,” L answers, and he knows Light doesn’t believe him but he doesn’t push. He can feel his eyes boring into him for longer than he would like after that, but he is unwilling to discuss the matter further, so he pretends he doesn’t notice Light’s gaze.

The next day Light offers to get L a tea with honey before bed, and L is shaken because this means he has realized in the time they’ve been together that this is his go-to insomnia cure. It also means that Light is trying to care for him. L does not know how he feels about this, but he knows it is not good. He declines the offer and forces himself to remain awake for another night. Light looks like he wants to argue when L says no, but he lets it go once more.

When L nearly collapses from exhaustion on the evening of the fifth day, the rest of the task force insists that he and Light head to bed early. He can’t argue and really, at this point he doesn’t want to. He needs sleep, loathe as he may be to admit it. So they go.

And nothing happens.

They wake up the next morning on their own sides of the bed, and L breathes a sigh of relief. The same thing happens for the next three nights and he starts to feel better about the situation, and in hindsight he wonders if that’s why it happens.

The morning after the fifth night since L started sleeping again, he immediately knows something is wrong when he wakes up. It takes all of his willpower not to tear himself away immediately when he realizes that he has an arm slung across Light’s chest and his head is resting by his shoulder. He tenses but tries not to move, because judging by Light’s breathing he is still asleep, which means there is a chance to escape. 

He pulls his head away slowly, trying to minimize the amount that his hair brushes against Light’s cheek as he does so. He pauses and doesn’t breathe for a moment while he watches to ensure that Light is still asleep, and then very carefully lifts his arm off his chest and moves back to his side of the bed.

He feels like he’s on fire, and he can still sense everywhere that his body was in contact with Light’s. He knows this is partly due to his embarrassment and fear of being found out, but he also knows that this is far beyond his ordinary reaction to touching someone. He’s still afraid Light will find out how he reacts to touch, but now he’s terrified that Light will find out how he reacts to _Light’s_ touch. He tries to shut his brain off as he can feel himself spiraling into a panic. He lies stiff and flat on his back and waits for his breathing to slow down.

 

L curls into himself more than usual lately. When he sits he keeps his hands and knees closer to his chest and he keeps Light at a distance. He knows Light notices, but he thinks now the best he can hope for might be not having to say anything out loud. 

He’s sleeping less again. 

His emotions are running high and he knew that proximity to his suspect would inevitably lead to his feelings getting involved at least somewhat, but he couldn’t have planned for this. He feels like crying sometimes, which is a rare occurrence for him, and he holds it in because when it happens he knows it will be a flood. He’s hanging on to the edge of his dignity by his fingertips and he’s waiting for Light to stomp on them. 

He comes crashing down, as he knew he would, when once again he wakes up with his arm around Light. This time Light is awake and he is looking down at L, and L knows he is defeated. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he sits up and moves away from Light, for all the good it will do at this point. He feels his face flushing red, so Light knows he is affected, which means it’s over, he knows his weakness, and it’s only a matter of time before it gets exploited.

L refuses to meet Light’s eyes. He stares straight ahead and waits for him to say something snarky, to make fun of him, to point out the obvious. The words don’t come. The silence makes him more tense, and eventually he hazards a glance over at Light.

Light is staring, but there is neither cruelty nor contempt in his eyes. Confusion, perhaps, and maybe amusement, and something else that L can’t place. But not the reaction he expected. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly devoid of the anticipated response as well.

“It’s okay, Ryuzaki,” he says.

“Okay,” L says. “Sorry anyway,” he adds again for good measure.

He hopes this will be the end of it, that they can just move on and he can ponder Light’s reaction on his own, but Light is still staring, and because L is already thrown off balance it takes him a second to notice that Light is reaching toward him, and when he does notice he makes an embarrassing noise and falls off the bed trying to get away.

He remains in the heap he landed in on the floor until Light moves over to look down at him.

“Ryuzaki.” he says.

“Yes, Light-kun?”

“Do you have a problem with me touching you?”

L sighs and picks himself up off the floor. He makes a gesture for Light to move so he can sit on his bed again, and Light does.

“It’s not just you,” L says, “I don’t like being touched by anyone.”

“I kind of figured,” Light says. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

This is the wrong thing for Light to say, because it makes L angry, and anger is an emotion he can work with. Shame and guilt and fear are paralyzing but anger is motivating, and now he’s in territory where he can spar with Light instead of fumbling while Light stomps all over him. 

“You’re very intelligent,” L says, “so don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Why is that a stupid question?” Light asks, and L knows he knows but he wants to make him say it once more.

“You know I think you are Kira,” he answers, and Light sighs.

“Still?”

“The handcuffs haven’t come off, have they?”

“Fair point,” Light says, “but I had hoped that perhaps all our time together was lessening your suspicions.”

“We’ve been over this,” L says, “even if you are not Kira now, you were Kira at one point, which means we are at odds. It is that simple really.”

Light does not speak for a moment, and when he does his voice is soft. “You said I was your friend.”

L turns to look him in the eyes, and he wishes his expression wasn’t so damn genuine. Whoever Light had been before his confinement, the person sitting before him asking why he won’t open up to him is every bit as brilliant but at most half as devious. Not the Kira he has been fighting, although L is not foolish enough to think he does not have the potential to be that person again. That has always been and will always be the problem. The physical space between them may be diminishing, but Kira is always there in between them, and that will not change.

“Yes,” L finally responds, “I said you were my friend. That is unfortunate isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” Light says.

“I believe that you don’t,” L says, the venom drained from his voice.

“Ryuzaki,” Light says, as he slowly lifts his hand, “may I?”

L feels defeated as he nods. Light brings his hand to his face and rests it on his cheek. L closes his eyes and bites back a sigh. 

He wonders if Light is going to kiss him but Light just rests his hand there, running his thumb lightly against his cheekbone. It makes L shiver. He opens his eyes and Light offers him a smile, and he can’t return it, not yet, but he brings his own hand up to gently cover Light’s and lets the moment last. 

“Okay?” Light asks.

L doesn’t know how many questions he is answering when he nods.

 

L feels better after that morning despite himself. Light does not take advantage of his newfound knowledge; if anything, he’s more respectful of L’s space. With his constant worry somewhat alleviated, L is sharper and more focused during the day. 

Nights are still a bit of an issue. While they both know the nature of their relationship has shifted, neither of them is quite sure exactly how. At first it causes them both to be overly cautious and polite for fear of making the wrong move, but this means that they are both holding back, and ends up creating additional tension. After a few days, L decides that if he wants to maintain some power in their dynamic, this time he should be the one to break it.

So, as they’re getting into bed one night, he kneels on his side of the bed and puts his hand on Light’s shoulder.

He can feel Light’s shock. Light turns to look at L, and before he can ask any questions L says, “Okay?” and this time they both understand the meaning.

Light nods, and L moves forward to kiss him before he loses his nerve. 

It’s softer than he wants it to be. He wants to exert more force than he feels, he wants to give off the impression that he is in control despite the fact that he most definitely is not, he wants Light to question his motives even though they both know this is what they want. The why matters as much as the what, and tenderness is bound to betray him. He can’t bring himself to correct it, though, and Light just meets him where he is, not even raising a hand to his face, and L loves and hates him for his respect in equal measure. 

He brings his own hand to Light’s face instead, and leaves it there after he pulls away from the kiss. He would be pleased at Light’s ragged breathing if his didn’t match. He hates himself for wanting more.

“You could touch me,” he tells Light, because there’s no point in denying it, and he doesn’t know what to expect but he is surprised when Light pulls him into a hug. Light wraps his arms around his lower back and L places his own around Light’s shoulders. They’re both on their knees now, and they sit in silence for what feels like an interminably long time, and yet still not long enough. L presses face against Light’s neck and sighs when Light starts running a hand in circles on his back. 

Eventually they lie down facing each other, neither willing yet to break the silence. Light is smiling, and L wishes he could do the same. Instead he lifts his left hand, the one free of the handcuff, and grabs Light’s right, palm to palm, threading their fingers together in between their bodies. He stares at the places where skin meets skin, where they are intertwined, and he hopes with all his heart that he does not have to live to regret this. 

In the morning, he wakes up once more with an arm over Light, his head resting on Light’s chest, and this time he lifts his head and kisses Light good morning, because there is no more reason not to. 

 

L wonders sometimes if the rest of the task force can sense that there has been a shift in their relationship. He knows they would never guess what sort; but he feels like they are more in sync in the investigation as well as in their private lives. They work better together than they ever have, and they smile and laugh and joke more easily, and he wonders if anyone notices. It’s possible that the change only feels monumental to L because of the weight he was carrying around beforehand. Whatever happens from here on out, he realizes, at least he does not have to hide anymore, and that is some measure of relief.

Sometimes it is dangerously easy to imagine this as the new normal. When Light brings him sweets while he’s working late at night, when they invent friendly challenges to test each other for fun while they take breaks for the investigation, when they wake up together and L feels more rested than he ever remembers feeing, he can picture it lasting. He never stops chiding himself for being sentimental.

Sometimes, he looks at Light’s sleeping face and there is a part of him that says _Surely he can’t be Kira, just this once you must be wrong,_ and he wishes he could believe he is. But L is the greatest detective in the world, and he has solved more difficult cases on his own than anyone else, and if someone asked how he would tell them that the biggest reason he always wins is that he does not take people for what they seem to be. Every time L catches a culprit, he sees a spouse or a neighbor or a friend on the news report saying “We just had no idea, they were so nice/kind/helpful/friendly/normal, I just can’t believe it.” It’s always the same script. No one ever sees past the surface.

But L can. L knows what can be hidden behind a warm smile or friendly conversation or a tender kiss. He knows that evil speaks beautifully and wears well-pressed suits and dutifully serves the people who further its own interests without them realizing. Monsters look just like regular people, and L is successful because he knows this.

Light is no different, no matter how much L is starting to wish he could be. It does not matter how good of a son or a brother or a student or, dare L say, a lover, Light is, it does not mean he is incapable of being Kira. Every good feeling L has for him is a good feeling he has for a killer; he knows this in his heart. He wonders if that makes him a monster too.

 _Monsters don’t have to stay monsters,_ says the optimistic voice in his head that has started to sound an awful lot like Light. It’s true, but it gives L no comfort. He will not set himself up to fail anymore than he already has; when whatever is happening between he and Light falls apart, L does not want himself to fall apart with it.

 

L wants to let good things be good. Light tells him constantly that this should be his attitude, that they are enjoying each other and that’s only positive, and L wishes that were the case. Every time Light touches him he wishes he could see it as something pure, a gift he never thought he’d have, but he can’t. So he starts to settle for letting it be. 

When they start having sex, it becomes almost a safe haven for L. Light insists that he allows L to be in control, but L is fairly certain Light enjoys ceding his power in these specific circumstances. It works out for both of them. When L is feeling okay, when they’ve had a day where they feel like they’re progressing toward catching the new Kira, or when he and Light have a particularly intellectually stimulating conversation, L lets Light do what he wants. When L has had a bad day, when he’s tired and frustrated and angry, he sets more boundaries. Light respects them all. If L says not to touch his hair, Light resists the urge. If he tells him to keep his hands to himself altogether, Light does. It becomes one of the only times L really feels in control anymore.

It’s an illusion, of course. If he were really in control he wouldn’t have feelings for Light. If he were really in control, he wouldn’t be setting himself up to get hurt. But as much as he wants to blame Light for this, he can’t. Light genuinely believes that he won’t end up hurting him, that they can have a relationship that’s not destined for ruin. 

He says as much one night after they’ve collapsed back into bed together. “Will I ever not be Kira to you?” he asks, and the momentary contentment L has been able to grasp onto evaporates.

“Well,” L says carefully, “whoever you are now, I still believe you were Kira. So. You always will have been Kira, at least.”

“Is that fair?” Light asks, and L knows he’s putting a great deal of effort into keeping his ego in check. Light from a few months ago would never react so calmly to L’s accusations; he would deny them, he would argue against them, he would get angry. There’s tension in his voice now, but he’s holding it back. L wants to tell him that he sees the effort, that he appreciates it, but the conversation is more important.

“Maybe not,” L admits, “but is it fair to ask me to forget?”

“Maybe not,” Light concedes, “but where does that leave us?”

“Where would you like us to be?” L asks.

“Somewhere where you trust me,” Light answers. “Somewhere where you don’t look at me like you wonder if I’m going to kiss you or strangle you. Somewhere where you believe that who I may have been in the past doesn’t have to define our future.”

Our future. L knows he says that phrase tactically, to get a reaction, to prompt emotions that will influence L’s judgment. _Not Kira,_ L thinks, _but good at the same kind of games._

“To be honest with you,” L says, “I would like to be there too. But I’m not. I’m sorry.”

He is. It won’t change anything, but he is. 

“Okay,” Light sighs, “Well. I guess I’m glad that at least there’s this.” He brushes a hand through L’s hair as he says the words, and L slides his eyes shut as he feels the prickle of tears forming. He can keep them from falling, but he resents their presence nonetheless.

“I’m glad too,” he whispers.

 

It’s not long after this conversation that everything finally shatters.

L knows as soon as it happens. He doesn’t know exactly what causes it, but the Light who gets in the helicopter with him and the Light who gets back out at headquarters are not the same person. He tries to keep up appearances, but L knows. He supposes if there has been any advantage to their relationship, it is that the certainty he feels that Light is Kira once more can be reinforced by his intimate knowledge of a Light who wasn’t Kira. 

The others don’t understand his melancholy. Higuchi is gone and they’ve discovered how Kira kills; everyone else is over the moon with excitement. L wishes he could share it, but every time his eyes meet Light’s he is struck once again by the absence of warmth that he hadn’t known was there to miss in the first place. Light smiles the same, he laughs the same, he kisses the same as the person L has been sharing all of his space with for the past several months, but he is not the same, and L is certain that this means he is going to die. 

As he stands on the roof, in the rain, a foolish part of him tells himself off for letting Light touch him that first time, for giving up that power, as if Light hadn’t already taken up residence under his skin long before he brushed his thumb across L’s cheek or pressed his lips to L’s. Light gained power through his knowledge of L’s sensitivities and desires, but he would have had enough of it to ruin him regardless. 

L feels the tears it seems like he has been holding in for months building up once more, and since the rain will hide the evidence he lets them flow.

He cringes when he hears Light call out to him across the roof. Of course he won’t be permitted this moment to himself. Of course Light has to be there, to gloat, to remind him that he will win, that he already has won, that every memory they now share between them won’t matter in the end. Maybe L thinks, this what he deserves. He let Light in after all, and he knew when he did it what it meant. 

He’s not sure why he rubs Light’s feet. It feels like equal parts sacrifice and self-indulgence. Sacrifice because he’s giving to Light when Light doesn’t deserve it and because he’s opening them up to tenderness once more, and self-indulgence for the same reasons. He offers Light whatever is left of his love at the same time as he takes his touch without hesitation or apology, something he’s not sure he ever fully did until this moment. 

His cell phone ringing interrupts the mood and L feels the last piece of their broken relationship falling to the ground as he answers it. In a moment he and Light will go back downstairs and join the others, and L does not need his deductive reasoning to tell him that once they’ve left this room they will never have a moment like this again. He pauses before they walk away for good and turns to face Light once more. Light sneers before he remembers himself and paints a kinder expression on his face. L doesn’t know why he bothers.

“What is it, Ryuzaki?” Light asks impatiently. 

L says nothing, just reaches for Light’s right hand and slowly brings it up to rest against his cheek. He hopes Light is remembering what he is remembering. He knows he won’t be remembering it fondly; he would never expect that much. But he can hear in the catch of Light’s breath that their heads are in the same place, and that’s enough. He’s taken everything he can. He rubs his thumb across the back of Light’s hand one last time and then lets it fall.

_Fin._


End file.
